


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Dollface (TV 2019)
Genre: Christmas Music, Co-workers, F/M, Holidays, Mistletoe, Oral Sex, Romance, Self-Insert, Sex, Smut, Snow, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Reader and Wes bond over mistletoe and spend a wintry night together.
Relationships: Wes/Reader, Wes/You
Kudos: 12





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

Traditions are interesting things. From barely held-together ornaments hanging on carefully curated fir trees to curling up with a cup of hot chocolate to watch the same old movies despite knowing all the words by heart, the holidays were the perfect time to exercise the bounds of age-old traditions. Some were more interesting than others. This season I was particularly fixated on the Saturnalian tradition pertaining to suspended shrubbery.

Mistletoe, the twig and berries meant to represent love, peace, and… well, some other, more lewd things. It’s questionable backstory aside, I decided to focus on the first of the things: love.

Because traditions aren’t unique to the holidays, and you needn’t look further than our company break room to see what I mean. Every single morning, without fail, one resident veterinarian would stumble in with only half-brushed bedhead and make a beeline for the coffee machine.

This time, though, he would find an extra obstacle in his way before he could make it to his beloved beverage. Hung just above the pot, dangling rather obviously from the cabinet, was a small bundle of berries. And next to those berries was me, idling around the kitchenette and waiting for opportunity to strike.

Of course, when Wes walked in, his response was about what I expected. While he did almost make it all the way to the pot, he’d stopped just before he could be considered under the mistletoe, turning to look at me with a mischievous little glint that was just begging for me to join him.

So, I did, gliding over and pouring myself another cup like there wasn’t an ulterior motive to my existing in that space with him.

I’d expected the story to end there, with him teasing my blatant attempts at flirting as nothing but harmless fun. But to my genuine surprise, Wes put his hand over mine on the handle of the pot before he took one very purposeful step forward, placing the two of us squarely under the branch together.

It wasn’t the action that made my heart skip a beat, although it certainly didn’t help its already panicked pace, it was the way he looked at me as he stood there. Our chests were pressed against each other and our hands still together as he challenged me with nothing but a smirk and narrowed eyes.

I couldn’t let him get away with it, though. Not after all the work I’d put in so far. Standing just a little bit taller, I leaned ever so slightly forward while I managed to whisper with just a little bit of pride, “Caught you.”

Again, Wes caught me off guard with absolutely no fight to his words. Instead, a soft and still sleepy, “Why, yes you did.”

But then his devilish playfulness kicked in seconds later, and he started to close the gap between us much faster than before.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked through a wicked grin, “Kiss me?”

For a moment, I considered it. I thought about all the different ways this situation could end. I imagined how it would feel to finally feel his lips against mine, and I pictured how sweet it would be to see his eyes half-lidded and filled with a similar desire in my own.

But then I chickened out. It wasn’t entirely my fault, either. It was his fault, really. Since the first day on the job, I was repeatedly and sternly warned that Wes did _not_ tolerate workplace romance. I couldn’t blame him; it was a recipe for disaster. It didn’t make me want him any less, though. And on some days, I would swear he felt that same magnetism. But that day wasn’t one of them. I was too nervous from the intensity and proximity.

“Yeah, right,” I said with a chuckle and a step in the opposite direction, “You’d never let that happen.”

That hand that had covered mine so boldly slid to my wrist, gripping just enough to halt my retreat. The unexpected momentum brought me back to him, our chests flush together in the creeping dawn of a day I’d only dreamed about.

“No?” he dared, “ _Try me_.”

The whole world came to a screeching stop, and I blinked once, twice, three times before I managed to sputter out an incredulous, pathetic, “What?”

“You don’t want bad luck, do you?” he teased, his hand continuing up my arm and cupping my chin in a way that couldn’t be interpreted any other way. All I could think about was how they were so soft it was sinful, and the scorching heat from my flushed skin still felt cold in comparison to him.

“So, kiss me,” he dared, and I really believed that he meant it. Brown eyes burned through all of my defenses and doubts, leaving me nothing but an open book trapped by fingers that I bet were well versed in much more than flipping theoretical pages.

“C-Close your eyes,” I stuttered. He didn’t buy that there was any confidence behind the order for a second, but he followed the direction, nonetheless.

I missed those expressive eyes the second they were closed. I couldn’t dwell on the loss, though, because my thoughts were absolutely _racing_. There were a million warnings blaring through my ears and forcing my heart forward in my chest.

_Kiss me_ , he’d said. He never said _where_.

And I was a coward, but a coward that hated to be bested. So, with every ounce of courage I could muster, I closed the gap between us, connecting with the scratchy surface of his cheek. The stubble tickled my lips in a way I knew I’d feel forever.

His fingers under my chin slipped from the surprise, and I heard the smallest little inhale when he’d realized what I’d done. If I’d stayed around longer, I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen him blush, too. But — as we’ve established — I am not a brave person in the slightest.

As soon as I pulled away, my feet carried me out of the room. The stunned silence that I fled from told me that there was a similar confusion about what had just happened over the abandoned coffee.

When I went back in a couple hours later to collect my cup and my shame, I noticed a berry missing from the branch.

———————————————

My first kiss with Wes was, in a word, unforgettable. Literally. From the second it had happened, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That damn peck on the cheek consumed my thoughts so much that it was hard even being in the same building as him, which made work basically unbearable. I suspected that my reaction was exactly the kind of thing that made him create the rule in the first place.

But still, I didn’t regret it... and I don’t think he did, either. If anything, he seemed even more content as we went about our normal routines together. He said nothing about it, except for one brief tease when he almost tricked me into getting stuck under the berries with a snake and the time he succeeded with a puppy. Although, he did make a rather cheeky comment about how it wasn’t fair the dog got a proper kiss. When I asked him to explain what about his kiss was improper, he just shook his head like I should already know.

Our dynamic was still just normal enough that I could have pretended the mistletoe mishap never happened, if not for one thing: the annual company holiday retreat. A weekend in which I would be trapped in a beautiful ski lodge resort with one of the most wonderful men I’d ever met, knowing full well what it felt like to kiss him.

Well, sort of. But that only made it worse, really. Knowing that I only barely knew; knowing it would probably be better when he could return the gesture with his own fervor.

I couldn’t think about it. Not while everyone we worked with sat beside us in arguably one of the most romantic atmospheres known to man. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The softwood crackled and spit from its place within the brick, causing the smell of Christmas to drift through the room filled with laughter and _copious_ amounts of alcohol.

I blamed the cursed liquid for the way my thoughts found their way back to the man sharing a loveseat with me. Surely, I thought, he knew what he was doing when he put himself next to the only girl in the room that he’d ever let kiss him. He must have known that his arm that rested over the back of the seat and hovered over my shoulder would drive my heart wild. My suspicions were confirmed when the limb would dip as he readjusted, inching almost imperceptibly closer to me while his fingers brushed over my shoulder.

When I finally moved to grab a blanket, I returned to find him close enough that he stole the other end of the fabric without even needing to ask. I swore I could feel his body heat but convinced myself it was just the glow of the wine I’d been downing in the hope it would grant me some courage to just _talk_ to him.

Wes didn’t look at me, but he didn’t need to. I could tell by the way he smiled each time I looked up at him with wonder, wishing he’d do something more, that he knew the effect he had on me. I hated it. Because if I truly believed that he knew what he was doing, I had to ask myself another question...

Why the fuck wasn’t he doing anything about it?

The question plagued my thoughts for the entire four hours we spent together, only made worse by the way people left one by one until there were only three of us. That last person was the quickest to make their departure, and I tried not to feel guilty about how excited I was when they did leave the two of us alone.

But once it actually happened, I was struck by that same pesky, paralyzing fear. The two of us sat together, looking at each other and only barely escaping the other’s touch, and we were silent. The only sounds in the room were a crackling fire, the howling winds outside, and my frantic heartbeat trying to escape my chest.

“I guess I should get going, too,” I muttered, unable to think of anything else to say.

Wes’s eyes fell to my lips as the words made their way out, but that was only half as exhilarating as the way his hand that had been dangling over my shoulder dropped to fix my sleeve. That contact, no matter how slight, was enough to cause my eyes to flutter shut and a smile to grace my lips before he even so much as answered my threat to leave.

“You could stay a bit longer if you want,” he whispered in a voice much too inviting, “Have another glass of wine with me.”

“I could,” I hummed contently just before I took the last sip of my bittersweet drink. “But are you just suggesting, or are you asking me to?”

He chuckled, a gentle yet low sound that made goosebumps ripple down my arm in a path he soon after followed. Almost like he could see them underneath my clothing.

“I’m asking you to stay.”

I didn’t expect the words to make me as flushed as they did. The blood in my veins seemed almost uncontrollable, much like the fire still burning away in the background. But the sparks between our bodies were much more interesting.

The longer we stayed, the closer we became. After another hour of the two of us enjoying the atmosphere and company of no one but each other, we were tangled together so tightly under the blanket that I wondered how we’d manage to separate again. Despite already having been essentially sitting on his lap, Wes watched me cautiously as I set my wine glass down. That hand was the only part of me left that wasn’t wrapped around him, and I very much wanted to change that. Judging by the way he pulled me closer, I think he agreed that the move was necessary.

Still, he couldn’t let the desperation slide. Dragging a hand over the sliver of exposed skin of my thigh between the slit in my dress, Wes playfully mumbled, “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”

“I will, thanks,” I returned quickly. 

Continuing with the theme of rather rude callouts, Wes tightened his grip on my thigh as he drawled, “You seem very… touch starved.”

I didn’t reply because my throat closed the second his hand had started its ascent. He didn’t need any other response than the way my breath hitched and my nails dug into his shoulders.

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“Mmm. Is that your medical opinion?” I asked between nervous but happy giggles.

“It’s wishful thinking,” he answered before tacking on the most genuine plea I’d ever heard, “And me, hoping that you’ll stay with me.”

The advance was so blatant that I almost thought I’d imagined it. But the longer I let the silence sit, the stronger his eyes and hands pulled me in. He was only a couple inches from my face by the time I managed to croak out a response.

“I thought you had a rule about not dating coworkers.”

“That’s a stupid rule,” he said so quickly that I had to accept he’d been waiting for me to mention it, “Let’s break it.”

Still stuck in a disbelieving daze, I narrowed my eyes like that would let me see into his soul easier. As if it wasn’t already displayed so openly before me. “You’re very easily persuaded,” I muttered. 

“I can play hard to get if you want me to,” he responded without pause. 

But we both knew I didn’t want that. I wanted nothing more than I wanted this- than I wanted him. My body was practically begging for his touch, my muscles already starting to tremble from anticipation. The signs became more obvious the closer our faces became. When our noses bumped into one another, I almost closed my eyes. But I didn’t want to just yet. We were stuck in the most torturous game of chicken I’d ever experienced, scrutinizing each particle of air that dared stay suspended between us and stopped us from giving into everything we wanted.

I didn’t kiss him. Not even on the cheek this time. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, it was because I knew once our lips connected, there would be no letting go of him. I turned away at the last second, but Wes stayed, his lips brushing over my cheek before he dragged his cheek against mine in a way that was arguably even more intimate than any kiss we might have shared.

“Hmm. There’s no mistletoe here,” I whispered into his ear.

Wes chuckled, and I felt it more than heard it as the hot breath burst over my ear. “I think there might be some in the bedroom,” he suggested with a hunger burning through the words.

“Really?” I asked with a sarcastic little gasp that was made worse by the kisses he started peppering over my jaw. “Will you show me?” 

There was no time left to waste. With those four words I’d given him everything he needed to understand just how easily he could have me. We scrambled up from the couch with a teenager-like level of excitement, stumbling through the communal areas making way too much noise and not caring who heard.

He held my hand the whole way out into the snow and through the wintry mix to the cabin he was staying in. Even once we were safe from the storm outside, he didn’t let me go. His hands just moved, spinning me around and grabbing hold of the zipper on the back of my dress with absolutely no hesitation. In any other situation, I would have chastised him for rushing it, but in that moment I was grateful that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. Even with quick hands working the fabric off my shoulders, I couldn’t get in his bed fast enough.

And he didn’t let me, either. His hand was heavy on my shoulder, and when he needed to move it, he simply wound it through my hair. With that grip, he tilted my head to the side to bare my neck to him. The reason why became obvious within seconds, as his mouth connected with the skin with feverish kisses that nearly brought me to my knees.

While I did manage to stay upright, I certainly wasn’t silent. I couldn’t have stopped the moan that spilled from my lips even if I’d wanted to. It filled the room alongside the sloppy sounds as he continued to suck and nip at the sensitive skin until I almost delirious with a lack of oxygen from singing his praises.

“Interesting…” he mumbled, clearly mocking my unescapable responses from his efforts.

“Shut up,” I whined, tilting my neck to grant him better access despite my feeble protest.

I should have known better than to think him being quiet would prevent him from torturing me. He had the same idea, nipping at my earlobe before breathily replying, “If it means I get to hear more of those noises, I will gladly find other things to do with my mouth.”

Deciding that his snark, while fun, was best reserved for another time, I fought against his grip in my hair just enough to spin back around to face him. His eyes were quick to appreciate the newly exposed skin, blocked only by thin lace that revealed just how much I’d wished this would happen. While he took his time memorizing what he saw, I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

It wasn’t until I got to his pants that he snapped back to the present, grabbing my wrist and positioning my hand over the obvious bulge underneath the fabric I’d wanted to free him from. That little action alone brought a smile to my face, and I looked up at him to see the desire painted over his features just like I’d imagined so many times. His other hand grabbed hold of my face with enough pressure to ignite a spark deep inside of me.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” he asked lowly. I wasn’t given a chance to respond with words, not with him kissing me seconds later, but I granted him an answer in the form of my fingers stroking him through his pants until his own moan broke through our still joined mouths.

“Fuck... I want you so bad,” he groaned just before he shoved me back away from him. I let the momentum carry me onto the bed, spreading out among the sheets and enjoying how much better they felt knowing he would join me there shortly.

“I’ve been waiting forever for a chance to get you alone,” he admitted with an undeniable honesty. I felt it in the way he practically tore his pants off and crawled on top of me within seconds.

“What’re you going to do now that you have me?” I purred. As if the answer wasn’t already obvious.

“Make sure you never want to leave,” he explained as he dragged fingertips over the curve of the fabric that remained in his way. Before I could tell him that he’d already succeeded, he demonstrated just how unfinished his answer was. His fingers worked underneath me and popped my bra open with a skill that even surprised me.

Lowering his mouth and tugging the material away at the same time, he chuckled as my skin perked at the feel of his hot breath brushing over it.

“And I’m going to make sure…” he started before he fondled me with an almost bruising grip, “that _everyone_ knows who you belong to.”

Just like that, he took the pebbled peak into his mouth. The gentle suckling was nothing compared to the way his tongue expertly explored the impressive area he managed to cover. I had a similar reaction to when he’d let that dastardly mouth leave marks all over my neck, and I could feel the smirk on his face as he continued through all of my dramatic cries.

My hands tugging on his hair did nothing to stop him. He continued with his persistent marking across my chest, teasing me every few movements by taking in the sensitive center of my breasts for just a few seconds before he shifted to another spot.

I didn’t look down, simply because I was already on the brink of insanity just from feeling alone, but I knew that I would find a number of angry marks in his wake. It was by design, too. He made it clear with each not-so-gentle love bite over my shoulder and neck as he worked his way back up to my lips. Even then, he took my bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on the supple skin already bruised from being worried between my own teeth.

“I love how fucking sweet you are,” he growled, and I couldn’t tell if he’d meant it literally or was merely referencing my demeanor, but I decided it simply didn’t fucking matter. All that mattered was being able to feel him more. Wes must have agreed, because no sooner had the thought hit me than his fingers hooked under the elastic of my underwear and began a torturously slow descent. Even then, he took the time to leave teeth marks and bruises along my thighs.

I knew once he’d started coming back up that he would take yet another detour, but we both decided that it was one worth taking. Sure enough, once he lined back up at my hips, he stopped. His breath against me felt cold compared to the heat I felt inside, and a chill shot through my body and elicited yet another pitiful whine.

“You want to feel it here, too, don’t you?” he cooed, mocking the way my hips bucked against him, seeking out the kisses he was so willing to give.

“Please,” I squeaked. I hoped it would be enough to earn his mercy. Thankfully, it was.

His mouth was every bit as talented there as it was everywhere else. I tried to keep my sounds muffled, but it was the most fruitless effort I’d ever given. I was already practically sobbing from the way I could still feel him in every spot he’d left evidence of his praise, and he didn’t relent in the slightest. He was just as persistent and powerful in his worship, dragging his tongue through the slick folds and trying to feel me as deeply as he could. When his tongue couldn’t reach far enough for him, his fingers took its place.

The feeling of any part of him inside of me drove me mad with lust. My body was moving outside of my control, and I honestly didn’t know how he managed to breathe once my legs wrapped around his shoulders. My hands were rooted firmly in his hair, trying to hold on to reality for just a few seconds longer before I let it all go.

I almost expected to see him staring back at me with that daring, flirtatious stare, but when I looked down, his eyes were closed. I wasn’t upset by it, because I quickly realized that it meant I could watch him without scrutiny or judgment.

And I did. I watched each muscle on his face twitch and tense as he continued his ministrations even when it should have been impossible. I could see the sweat on his brow and the red tinge to his cheeks as he chose me instead of air. And when he did take a breath, I felt that, too.

“Wes,” I finally let myself cry out, “Wes, please. I’m so close.”

Brown eyes opened to reveal a smile hiding behind them. His mouth was too busy to try, but I could practically hear the smug chuckle that was hidden as a content humming against my skin. Luckily for him, I was not at all in the right mind to call him out. Not when he was so busy destroying any semblance of dignity or self-preservation I had left.

So, when Wes left his eyes open and straining to look up at me, I met them for as long as I could. But the sounds of sex and his smothered moans forced me over the edge. The orgasm I’d been battling to prolong hit me so quickly that I didn’t even have time to call his name one more time.

He didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even particularly seem to notice. He was simply too busy continuing the quick, rough thrusting of his fingers and the harsh suckling at my crest to do anything else.

But when the white light and euphoria faded into a manageable haze, his eyes were still locked on mine. He waited until I could hold that gaze for a few uninterrupted seconds before he finally withdrew, leaving me a soaked, twitching mess beneath him. I wondered if it looked as pathetic as it felt, but I also didn’t care. Because even as my muscles rioted against any conscious movement, I still wanted _more_.

Wes agreed, or at least I hoped that was why he had returned to kissing up my abdomen and chest. Once his lips found mine again, still covered with me, I must have looked absolutely out of my mind. Still, he didn’t look at me like a disaster. Just a little bit helpless.

“It’s okay if you need to stop,” he offered with grace and only a little bit of mockery, “I’ve put you through a lot tonight.”

“No, roll over,” was my almost incoherent response. If he didn’t understand it, the context of me struggling an incredible and embarrassing amount, surely helped. Unfortunately for my pride, it also made him laugh.

“Oh, you are just too cute. Look at you.”

I glanced down at his instruction, spotting what he was referring to immediately. My legs shook with every attempted movement, making them all as clumsy and uncoordinated as ever. But that wasn’t enough to stop me, and Wes didn’t seem to care as much as he acted, because as soon as I knocked into him, he fell back among the pillows with ease.

“I can do it,” I whined through his laughter, “I want to do it, please.”

For all of my begging, I was rendered speechless seconds later at the sight before me. Wes’s hair was wild among the pillows, and his half-lidded, lust-filled eyes looked just as beautiful as I thought they would. The pillows propped him up just enough to put us on almost equal playing ground, and he ensured that I wouldn’t get a swelled head with his arm around my waist pulling me down to him.

“You tell me when you can’t handle it anymore, alright?” he whispered, and I felt the genuineness behind the tone. That soft, compassionate demeanor that I saw him utilize every day at work. I never expected him to look at me like something to be cared for, but now that I’d had it, I wanted nothing more than to see it every day for the rest of my life.

That look didn’t fade even when I reached between us and guided him to my entrance. It only got stronger the deeper he pressed into me. With every inch, I felt closer to him in a sense past the physical. The subtle changes in his expression revealed sides of him I’d never seen, and I loved each of them more than I thought was possible.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hands finding my hips and trying to hold them steady to prevent his bucking hips from forcing me past my limit. His body’s hypocritical actions spurred me forward, though, and with both of my hands over his, I finally forced myself down to be fully seated on him with a broken cry that only barely resembled his name.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” the man underneath me answered just before he buried his mouth on my neck once more. That didn’t stop him from talking, though. He’d taken the time to read exactly what kind of woman I was, and so he knew what I needed to drive me even wilder than he already had. “Keep going, baby,” he sighed, “You’re doing so well.”

And as much as I appreciated the praise, which was a lot, I also couldn’t help but think about the consequences of his actions that I’d let slide thus far. When he latched onto a very visible spot on my neck, I managed to whimper between the moans, “Wes, I’m gonna have to wear a turtleneck for a fucking month.”

It managed to distract him from his current ministrations just long enough that his spiteful little laughter filled the room. Pulling back to draw my attention back to those cruelly beautiful eyes, he smugly answered, “You fucking _love_ it.”

He was right. I did love it, but I also knew that it was a dangerous game to say the least. My pace slowed to a gentle rocking in his lap. It was partially out of fear that the encounter was coming to an inevitable conclusion, but also because I wanted to see him clearer. I was fascinated and entranced by the way the pleasure showed on his face.

“I thought you wanted to keep romance out of the office.”

To my surprise, he didn’t debate the romance aspect of the tryst, instead focusing on the latter half as he answered with a shrug, “We aren’t in the office.”

As if to prove his point, Wes held my hips down before thrusting up roughly. I cried out with nails digging into his shoulders. After all, if he got to leave marks, then I should be able to, too! He took the time to tilt his head to the side and lay a gentle kiss onto my forearm, but then continued with his previous demeanor.

He’d abandoned the plan to mark every inch of my skin with his mouth in favor of kissing me. His hands took over for him, pressing angry crescent marks and bruises in the shape of his fingers over my hips that he brought down on him at a brutal pace.

But as much as I loved kissing him, I couldn’t fight the urge for revenge stirring in my chest. He’d teased me so much so far, it was only fair that I got a chance to return his sarcastic quips with my own. And considering how much he loathed the idea of interwork relationships, I knew exactly how to get back at the resident veterinarian who insisted on not bringing sex into work.

I’d bring the work, instead.

Throwing my head back and forcing his lips to meet my neck once more, I let out one last whorish moan before I cried, “Oh, Doc, you feel so good!”

The affectionate nickname earned another dark laugh from the man whose force only grew as he realized what I was doing. His teeth sunk into already bruised skin, and he dragged them over the swollen skin before he growled, “Fucking _brat_.”

He could feel the laughter in my throat, but silenced it with a hand gripping me by the scruff so tightly that I actually lost my breath.

“Keep running that mouth and see where it gets you.”

“You can hurt me, Doctor,” I purred, earning another merciless thrust, “And you can fix me up after, too.”

“What makes you think I’d want to fix you after?” he whispered, letting his fingers brush over his marks and apply pressure to each of them just to watch me squirm in response. The more that I moved, the quicker his motions became. Soon enough, his hand had made it all the way down to the space between our thighs, and he locked eyes with me once more.

“Maybe I like you better when you’re broken.”

The pure force, the undeniable truth behind those words did exactly what he wanted. They broke me. All of the tension in my body shattered. I fell forward onto him, and Wes caught me without any hesitation. His hips never once faltered, and his lips alternated between gentle kisses against my temple and soft sounds made directly into my ear.

It was not the broken I was expecting to be, but one that was far more devastating. I felt so overwhelmed, so lost in the sensations he created within me, that when I became cognizant again, I didn’t even want to move from the blatantly intimate embrace. I just clung to him, burying myself in his arms and trusting that he would keep me safe from everything else.

“Not so talkative anymore, are you?”

I didn’t even have the strength to answer, but I knew he already knew what I would have said. There was no denying it. He took my defeat without any sympathy, continuing with his playful ridicule even as he used my body for whatever he needed.

“Are you tired? Have you had your fill?”

The noise I returned was more akin to a whimper than a moan, and he took it as my last attempt at defying his tongue-in-cheek attempts at authority. At that, his touch grew more possessive. His hips worked harder, and his hands slammed me down onto him hard enough that my whole body shook from the impact.

“That’s too bad if you’re tired, because I’m not finished marking you yet,” he chuckled darkly in my ear. I could still hear him over the sounds of rushing blood, but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything as I let the feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure consume me one final time.

“Mine,” Wes cried, sinking his teeth into my shoulder before he growled, “You’re fucking _mine_.”

I felt what he meant in every sense of the word. I was his, to hold and bruise and break. I was his because he laid claim to every part of me that he pleased, with his teeth and fingers imprinted in my skin surrounded by mottled marks. He wrote his name with petechiae that he wrapped around my neck so I would never forget how easily he could have taken me. How easily I would have let him.

It seemed inconsequential in comparison, to feel the way his release filled me in a way I’d never let any man do before. I hadn’t even really thought about it, because I’d already given myself to him. And when I lolled my head over to look at him, I found a bliss in his expression that I would give anything to see repeated every time I closed my eyes.

It felt like home, tangled in the cabin with damp skin and tired eyes. We stayed exactly like that, still connected in more ways than one, for as long as we could. We let the residual heat from our fast beating hearts and frantic breath keep us content until the mountain air still creeping through the cabin became too much to bear.

Leaving him was hard, but necessary. I stared at my body in the mirror and found myself admiring all of the new additions he’d left behind. The evidence that it hadn’t been some wild, wine-induced dream. He’d touched me and held me and had me to his heart’s content.

I wasn’t sure what would happen when I returned to his bed. I knew I would either find myself heartbroken or happy, and just wanted to let it happen. Of course, Wes had to continue on his trend of being unpredictable. He welcomed me back under the covers with his arm extended. It wrapped around me in seconds, dragging me closer to him again.

I’d suspected it was just to keep warm, but then he pulled his other hand from under the covers to reveal what he’d been hiding. Dangling from his finger was a delicate piece of lace that we’d so carelessly thrown on the floor before.

We both laughed as I snatched the underwear from him. The longer it took me to put them back on, the more hilarious Wes found my struggle. But soon enough we were tied up together again, with my head resting against his chest where I could hear his heart’s gentle rhythm.

“You know, I really shouldn’t stay here,” I mumbled, drawing patterns over his arm.

Wes put an end to the action and the idea, grabbing hold of my hand and bringing it to his lips for yet another round of what seemed like endless kisses.

“It is quite a risk, isn’t it?” he said in the most unconvincing voice I’d ever heard.

“There’s bound to be talk tomorrow,” I murmured back. 

A smile crept over cheeks still pink from our escapades, and Wes just shook his head at the familiar old excuse. Playing along with the hopeless romantic he pulled closer, he drawled back, “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

Despite my giggles, I broke character of the timid, modest woman that we both knew I wasn’t and said through a pout, “It such a long, cold walk back to my room, though.”

“You should probably stay here, then, huh?” he returned. Our faces drifted closer, his arm around my waist urging me forward and supporting our terrible decisions.

Once our lips touched again, tenderly and tired, I reminded myself of the mistletoe and how right I was that it was so much better when he could kiss me back. Even when I tried to pull away, he followed me, stealing one more kiss before I happily concluded, “Baby, it’s cold outside.”


End file.
